


Yakov Knows Best

by azriona



Series: The Words 'Verse [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega Verse, Parenthood, babies cry a lot, but there's a connection, i'm not saying there's a connection there, just not quite in the way you're thinking, yakov yells a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:06:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: Anya cries every time her parents take her to the ice rink. It’s getting on Yakov’s last nerve. Doesn’t anyone know how to make this baby happy? Does Yakov have to do EVERYTHING himself?





	

**Author's Note:**

> According to DrinkingCocoa, who knows people who know these things, when figure skaters are being sassy to their coaches, their coaches make them do [power pulls](https://youtu.be/MU5p32Tjneg), which come in forwards and backwards variations. 
> 
> Regarding the "Author Chooses Not to Warn"... If you read the [Those Three Words headcanons on my tumblr](http://azriona.tumblr.com/post/157390525528/those-three-words-headcanons), then you know that in this universe, Makkachin dies very peacefully in her sleep, without pain or suffering, while Victor, Yuuri, and Anya are in Hasetsu for the NHK Competition when Anya is just over a year old. I reference it here; we're not going to witness it, but I don't want anyone to be caught unaware.
> 
> If you asked about Yakov and Anya together - this is for you. :)
> 
> Bozhe moi - Russian for “Oh my God.”

It’s midway through the afternoon and Yakov isn’t even halfway through shouting at Yuri because really, the child is an absolute _brat_ , there is no reason why he should have told thirteen-year-old Olga that she looked terrible in green. That it’s true is beside the point: Olga is _thirteen_ , she’s still new to Yakov’s team, and it’s only June. There’s plenty of time for her to choose a competition outfit for her first season in Juniors.

Now Olga is crying quietly in the corner while Mila works to comfort her, and _bozhe moi_ , Yakov hates crying children. It’s why he sticks to Seniors and Juniors who are clearly headed for Seniors, and he’s regretting every single discussion that led him to taking on Olga. Even if she’s been landing double axels since she was eleven and shows promise for being able to land a triple reliably before the year is out.

Yakov takes a breath in the middle of his shouting just in time to hear the wail. It’s high-pitched and digs right in behind his ears, bouncing off the high ceiling of the rink.

“ _OLENKA, THAT’S ENOUGH_!” he roars, because isn’t five minutes of crying plenty? How many tears does a thirteen-year-old girl _need_?

Yuri rolls his eyes. “Not Olga, coach.”

Yakov turns and glares at the entrance.

And groans.

Victor Nikiforov stands by the ice, cooing at the crying child in his arms, patting her back and bouncing her up and down as if he’s a carnival ride. Yuuri Katsuki stands next to him, worry etched on his face so deeply that Yakov can see it across the ice. Yuuri glances out at him, biting his lip, and then at the doors leading back to the locker rooms, clearly planning an escape.

They won’t take it. Yakov’s not that lucky.

The baby isn’t crying so loudly anymore, but her face is about as pink as her dress, and her face is buried in Victor’s shoulder. She’s smaller than Yakov thought she’d be, or maybe it just seems that way from across the ice.

“Start yelling at them young, I always say,” says Yuri, and Yakov glares at him.

“Power pulls, go,” he grunts, and Yuri groans.

But he goes off to do them, and while he does, Yakov skates over to where the little family stands.

At least the kid isn’t crying anymore.  She peers out from Victor’s shoulder as Mila and Olga and even _Georgi_ crowd around, cooing and making ridiculous faces at her. There’s a thumb in her mouth, and she looks much too solemn to be related to someone as endlessly and disgustingly happy as Victor Nikiforov.

Then again - her other parent is Yuuri Katsuki, who never cracked a smile in competition until Victor came along. Clearly she comes by her solemnness honestly.

“Hello, Yakov,” says Victor cheerfully. “I know I’m not starting until next week, but I thought everyone would like to meet Anya today!”

“She’s adorable,” says Mila, reaching out. “Will she come to me?”

The baby’s hands clench onto Victor’s shirt while she cuddles him closer.

“It was a long flight,” Yuuri apologizes. “She fell asleep in the car here, so she’s really groggy.”

“She won’t even go to Yuuri,” says Victor.

Yakov frowns. “What about tomorrow? You’re not skating with her in your arms.”

Even Victor looks shocked by that suggestion - and _thank God_ , Yakov was convinced he’d try wearing the kid in a sling. “Of course not! Yuuri and I decided, we will _never_ take her on the ice until she’s at least able to walk! Safety first!”

Yuuri nods emphatically.

“She’s so cute,” sighs Olga. One hand creeps up to touch the baby’s leg. “Can I babysit?”

“No,” barks Yakov. “You can work on your double toe loop. I want to see you land it cleanly in fifteen minutes or you’re doing power pulls with Yura.”

Yuri passes them on the ice just then, huffing and puffing. “ _Fifteen minutes?!?!_ ” he yells, but doesn’t stop. “I’m not doing these for another _fifteen minutes_!”

“Okay,” sighs Olga. One last caress, and she’s on the ice.

“When you’re more awake, _dushka_ ,” says Mila warmly, before she follows Olga onto the ice.

“Precious,” says Georgi, and then he’s off, too.

Yakov continues glaring at Victor and Yuuri. Yuuri at least has the decency to look a bit sheepish for bringing a baby into an ice rink. Victor, on the other hand…

“It’s cold in here,” says Yakov finally. “You should at least put a sweater on the child, if you’re going to stay and skate.”

Yuuri’s eyes go wide. “No, it’s okay, we were just going—“

“I knew you’d say yes,” says Victor happily, and somehow manages to disentangle the child’s fingers from his shirt as he hands her to Yuuri. “I’ll get the bag with our skates.”

He’s practically _skipping_ as he heads out to the locker room. Yuuri bounces a disgruntled Anya in his arms and tries to smile at Yakov.

“Um. It’s really all right. We don’t have to stay.”

Yakov would like to shout.

Except there’s a baby staring at him, her mouth still trembling, as if she’s still undecided about screaming more or not.

“Stay,” he says, and turns back to the ice.

*

The nanny is sick. At least, that’s what Victor explains when he arrives without Yuuri in tow. (Though usually, it’s Yuuri towing Victor, because Victor is too busy typing on his phone to even look _up_ and make sure he doesn’t run into a wall. Yakov suspects he’s posting pictures of the baby, or tweeting about the baby, or doing _something_ about the baby. Two months back in Saint Petersburg, and not a single day that Victor has not talked about the baby.)

“He’ll be in before lunch,” says Victor cheerfully. “And then I’ll stay at home with Anya in the afternoon so Yuuri can skate, and Yulia should be better by tomorrow.”

“Fine,” grumbles Yakov, because what choice does he have?

It’s still a shock when Yuuri shows up at noon. He’s bent over, as if leading something along.

Leading a very _short_ something along…

“Oh, look, she’s _standing_!” cries Olga. “She couldn’t do that last week!”

“It’s a new trick,” says Yuuri proudly, holding onto the little girl’s hands as the toddler… well, _toddles_. Yakov squints at her; he’s sure she’s bigger. Her hair is a little bit longer now, anyway, and curling at the ends, held back from her face with a lacy headband. There’s thick stockings on her legs, and a sweater over her dress. Yakov grunts in approval.

Not that anyone notices - they’re all too enamored with the baby to notice him.

“Annushka!” crows Victor, flinging himself off the ice. “You’ve grown!”

_Knew it_ , thinks Yakov smugly.

“You just saw her a few hours ago,” laughs Yuuri.

“And she grew,” insists Victor, lifting the girl up in the air.

Yakov is ready to cry out in horror - _Vitya, no, you’ll drop her!_ \- but Victor catches her easily, and the girl screeches before clinging to Victor again.

“Aw, she usually likes that,” says Victor, patting Anya’s back.

“She usually isn’t being thrown in a room with a concrete floor,” Yuuri points out, and he leans in to kiss Anya’s cheek. “She kept asking for you all morning, I think she just wants a cuddle.”

“I could cuddle her on the ice,” suggests Victor, a gleam in his eyes. “She’d like that.”

“No,” says Yuuri firmly. “We agreed. No baby on the ice. You’ll just want to do a spin with her. And then a jump, and next thing you know, you’ll be signing yourselves up for pair skating.”

“Not until she’s _three_ , I promise!”

“As if Yakov would even let her on the ice,” snorts Yuri from where he leans on the boards. “He _hates_ kids.”

Yakov’s heart turns to stone.

It’s not true, but…

“No babies on the ice,” snaps Yakov.

“When you’re older,” Victor tells the baby, who doesn’t look as if she cares a whit. She lets out a soft whimper and snuggles her face into Victor’s neck again.

Yakov turns back to the ice. He doesn’t care who’s the first to get back on it after him; they’re doing power pulls anyway.

“And put another sweater on that child, Vitya!” Yakov yells over his shoulder. “Do you want her to catch cold? Yura! Power pulls! Go!”

“ _WHAT DID I DO, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING, I…. OH FINE!_ ”

*

The NHK is _brutal_ , and when the Russian Team Plus Yuuri returns to the rink, it’s a question of who is in worse shape.

Georgi has a sinus infection, and still somehow managed to land in fourth place. It’s not a bad showing, and Yakov is proud of him. With his upcoming appearance at the Rostelecom Cup - and thus a home-country advantage - he might do well enough to make the final.

Yuuri placed second, and Yakov can see the way he’s torn. Second gives him enough of an edge that he stands a good shot of going to the final, but it’s still just another second place finish at the international level, when he has yet to receive gold. Yakov doesn’t know Yuuri as well as the others, but he’s watched him long enough to know that Yuuri hates settling for second.

Victor, though….

Victor’s eyes are red, and his skin is pale. He’s not sick or injured. He placed third, which considering where he’d been a year before is accomplishment enough. Yakov is pleased with his performance, and told him as much. Well, in Yakov-speak, anyway.

Victor is not upset about the third. Yakov doubts he even remembers he did it. Yakov really doubts Victor even cares.

“We should work on your combination,” Victor says to Yuuri. His voice is hoarse; it’s obvious to everyone at the rink that he’s been crying. Probably still _would_ be crying, if he wasn’t on the ice and determined to skate.

Yakov’s not an _ogre_. He’d give Victor a day or two off to mourn for Makkachin. But Victor hasn’t asked, and when Yakov tried to offer, he’d turned him down without even waiting for Yakov to finish speaking.

“Okay,” says Yuuri, humoring him.

Everyone’s being gentle with Victor.

And Yakov gets it. He had a dog as a child, a little yippy thing that slept on his pillow next to his head, and hopped on its hind legs and ate so much chocolate one New Year’s that its poor little body couldn’t handle it.

Yakov had cried for weeks.

When Yuri’s cat got out of the apartment and went missing for two days, Yakov was outside until 3am shouting for the stupid thing. In the middle of November. With a blizzard coming.

And _arthritis_.

He found it in the basement, happily purring in a cardboard box, and it’s not his fault that the pipes down there drip on everyone’s faces. Even in a blizzard, when the pipes are near-frozen. They drip. That’s just how it goes.

“She was happy with your parents,” sniffs Victor.

“Yeah,” says Yuuri, comforting and sad. “They really liked her. She didn’t go a day without knowing how much she was loved.”

Yakov sighs. It’s obvious to everyone but Victor that he needs to stay home and just _mourn_. But Victor is stubborn and… stubborn… and…. Yakov gives up trying to think of another synonym for stubborn. He’s sure the translation for “stubborn” in any other language sounds a lot like “Victor.”

What Yakov _does_ know is how to get Victor off the ice when he’s obviously no use on it.

“Your skates are dull,” he says to Victor and Yuuri. “Go get them sharpened.”

Yuuri frowns. “Takeshi sharpened them in Hasetsu last week—“

Yakov gives Yuuri The Look. Luckily, Yuuri’s watched his interactions with Yura long enough to recognize it, even if it doesn’t have the same power over him.

“Must have been the flight that messed them up, though,” continues Yuuri. “Come on, Victor.”

Victor doesn’t even protest. When Victor doesn’t protest leaving the ice early, it’s a sign that he knows he wasn’t supposed to be on it in the first place.

They’re still gone as practice draws to a close. Yakov shouldn’t really care that Yuri is standing near the entrance to the ice, talking to a pretty girl when he’s meant to be working on his step sequences as nature intended.

No, not talking. _Flirting_. She’s pretty and young and brown-haired. Yuri’s actually _smiling_ at her. Yakov remembers the fool of a cat in the blizzard, and heads over. He doesn’t even look at who Yuri’s talking to - all he sees is the lovely image of Yuri doing power pulls. Again.

“Power pulls,” he says. “Backwards. Go.”

Yuri sighs loudly through his teeth, and doesn’t even complain. He heads off to the ice.

Yakov is left facing the pretty girl - who holds Victor’s and Yuuri’s daughter in her arms.

_The nanny,_ realizes Yakov. No wonder Yuri went without complaint. There’s something friendly and wholesome about the girl that would have made him skate without complaint too, when he was Yuri’s age.

“I’m sorry,” says the girl meekly. “I wasn’t sure if we were in the right place, I didn’t see Victor or Yuuri and we’re supposed to meet them, so I just asked if they were here. I didn’t mean to distract Yuri.”

She even means it. It’s annoying. “They’ll be back,” says Yakov gruffly.

The baby’s not a baby so much anymore. She’s even bigger than the last time he saw her.  Now her dark hair is long enough for two pigtails on either side of her head, and her little red lips are open in a gap-mouthed stare. Every other time Yakov’s seen her in the rink, she’s cried. He has no doubt that she’s just readying herself to cry again.

Her eyes are remarkably blue.

Victor’s eyes, Yuuri’s hair, and a face all her own.

“Just keep her off the ice,” says Yakov sternly.

“We’ll stay over here, out of the way,” promises the nanny.

“Yulia!” squeals Mila as she comes off the ice, and goes to give the nanny and the baby both kisses. “Oh, Anya’s so _big_ now!”

Anya kicks her legs. Yulia laughs, struggling to keep the baby in her arms.

“She wants to walk.”

“Oh, let’s see,” says Mila excitedly, as Olga comes racing off the ice. Georgi’s not too far behind, and on the ice, Yura’s attention is clearly split between his power pulls and the utterly fascinating thing that is a toddler demonstrating how to walk.

Yakov grunts and goes over to the table where he’s left his notes.

It’s maybe a minute before he hears the howling, followed by the unmistakable sound of girls trying to soothe an upset child.

Yakov sighs. _Of course_. There’s irony in Victor and Yuuri creating a child who screams at contact with the ice. Yakov hates irony.

But this crying is… different. It’s not the sharp cry from when she first came into the rink. It’s not the shriek of fear when Victor threw her in the air. Anya cries like her entire world has turned upside-down and unrecognizable. Like the people she loves the most have just walked away, without looking back.

Like she’s alone, surrounded by others who can’t possibly reach or understand her.

The wails fill the rink so full they don’t even bounce. They press up against Yakov, smothering him.

He turns, ready to roar. He doesn’t roar. “What did you do to that child?”

“She let go of my hand, and tumbled a bit. She’s okay,” Yulia says, patting Anya’s back. “She wants her papa.”

“Can’t you make her stop crying?” says Yakov, irritated. There are so many people around Anya, wanting to soothe her, Yakov wonders how she can even breathe through the idiocy.

“He’ll be back, _milochka_ ,” soothes Georgi.

“I’ll run and get them,” says Yuri, skidding to a stop on the ice.

“Not in your skates,” snaps Yakov.

“Mine are off!” says Olga, and takes off in her stockings.

“Don’t run, you’ll break your neck!” Yakov calls after her.

 “Sweet baby,” coos Mila. “Do you want to come to me?”

Anya holds out her arms…

…To Yakov.

Every single skater holds their breath.

“I can’t,” says Yakov.

“I haven’t,” says Yakov.

“She doesn’t,” says Yakov.

The baby’s arms are insistent, stubborn, chubby things.

“Do I have to show you imbeciles how to do _everything_?” says Yakov, and takes the baby.

Anya buries her head into Yakov’s coat, her small fingers clinging tightly to the lapels. It’s like holding a sweet-smelling howler monkey.

Except… Anya isn’t howling anymore. She stops the instant Yakov has her in his arms. She’s still snuffling into his coat - it’ll probably be a mess now, he’ll have to have it dry cleaned. Maybe Victor will pay for it.

Anya lets out a distinctly wet-sounding, snotty snort.

Oh, no. _Definitely_ Victor is going to pay for it.

“Wow,” whispers Mila, eyes wide. “Yakov’s the baby whisperer.”

Yakov glares at her. “Power pulls.”

Mila makes a hurt sound in her throat. “But—“

“NOW! ALL OF YOU. GO.”

For a moment, Yakov freezes, convinced that the roar is going to make Anya start crying again.

Instead, for the first time that Yakov’s heard… she _laughs_.

Anya _laughs_.

The sound bounces off the ice and into the rafters - bright and happy and clear.

The skaters stare for a moment - before each and every one of them races for the ice and their dreaded power pulls.

*

Olga comes skidding into the rink five minutes later, Yuuri and Victor at her heels.

“Oh, hi!” says Yulia brightly from her perch on the top-most bleacher bench. “Sorry, we got here a little bit early.”

“Yulia!” exclaims Victor, and detours over to her. His eyes glanced frantically around her. “Olga said Anya was upset - where is she?”

“And why is everyone doing power pulls?” asks Yuuri, confused.

The sound of laughter floats up from the ice, bouncing in the rafters.

“Anya?” says Victor, turning to the ice.

His mouth drops open.

There, standing at center ice, surrounded by skaters doing power pulls, is Yakov.

And in Yakov’s arms… is Anya, who laughs and claps her hands as she watches everyone rock back and forth around her.

“Is that…” says Yuuri.

“Yakov?” finishes Victor.

They look at each other, and break into grins.

“She’s _laughing_ ,” says Yuuri, delighted. “She _never_ laughed on the ice with me.”

“Or me,” says Victor, right before he frowns. “Wait - she’s been on the ice with you?”

Yuuri blanches. “Um….”

Victor takes a step toward him. “Yuuuuri. We agreed. Anya doesn’t go on the ice until she can at least walk!”

Yuuri holds up his hands as if to ward Victor off. “Heh heh heh! It was just once! For a minute! Yuuko was there the whole time!”

“What do you mean, _Yuuko_ was on the ice with you? Yuuko broke her ankle, or I wouldn’t have had Takeshi on the ice with us last week!”

Yuuri’s eyes narrow. “With _us_? We didn’t skate with Takeshi last week.”

Victor rubs the back of his neck. “Um…..”

“Victor! Did you take Aina on the ice with you last week?”

“You apparently did it before we even left for Saint Petersburg!” exclaims Victor.

There’s another peal of laughter from the ice, and both men turn to see Anya clapping her hands and kicking her legs out while Yakov holds her and shouts at the skaters around him.

“Yakov gives her lessons,” says Victor.

“Agreed,” says Yuuri.

“But not until she can walk.”

Anya lets out another bright, happy laugh.

It’s the sweetest sound in the world.

“We should probably tell them we’re here,” says Victor, as their daughter’s laughter fills the air - but his eyes are shining, and for the first time in a week, Yuuri looks at him and sees _happiness_. “Yakov hates children. He’ll be glad to give her back.”

Maybe so; Yakov looks as gruff and stern as he always does.

But Anya chortles and kicks her legs, and his grip on her is gentle and firm. She’s not going anywhere, not in his arms.

Yuuri doesn’t think Yakov is going anywhere, either.

“We’ll tell them in a minute or two,” says Yuuri.

Victor wraps one arm around Yuuri’s waist and listens to the laughter. “Okay.”


End file.
